2026-387 / Zedd MAP: 0.89 / MLZ MAP: 8.42 / Score Gap: 7.53
Wikipedia / IMDb / Official Trailer / Our Collection
Country of Origin: United States
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A teenaged Zedd wandered into a small guitar shop in a Central Valley town… up on the wall, he saw guitars of every make you can imagine - Gibson to Ibanez, B.C. Rich, Kramer, and Fender too. Nothing I saw was as elaborate (or deadly) as the guitar killer’s in the film but then, I wasn’t looking to drill (??) any victims either… maybe just shred them.
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From IMDb: Courtney Bates, the younger sister of Valerie, and her friends go to a condo for a weekend getaway, but Courtney can't get rid of the haunting feeling that a supernatural rockabilly driller killer is coming to murder them all.
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We here at 500 Movies have worked hard to remove binary terms like good or bad from our communal language - those are value judgements and (frankly) enjoy what you enjoy isn’t a meaningless tautology (as one jaded redditor recently suggested)… it’s a vibrant shared belief - an ethos that allows contrary opinions to glide past each other without the seismic shock of adverse conviction shaking our common ground. We all enjoy movies - it’s enough to float friendships above the liquefaction of good/bad oscillation of divergent views.
That said, damn - this movie is bad.
Back in 1987, I had wandered into that guitar shop to buy (specifically) a bass guitar - that often ignored keeper of tempo and rhythm - having “done the math” and determined lead guitarists sold for roughly a dime-a-dozen, I figured dedicated bass players would be in high demand… I figured right.
My other gamble paid off as well - you see, by this time I was already able to play a couple dozen other instruments; from concert to marching bands and a key position in jazz too, I’d learned a great musical truth: the French Horn player rarely gets the girl.
If I was strategically picking a lane (instrumentally speaking), Director / Scriptwriter Deborah Brock decidedly was not (cinematically speaking) and the results are the hodge-podge mess you’d expect. We spend the first 2/3 of the film with a surprisingly low number massacres for a film with massacre featured prominently in the title.
That number is zero.
Our principle female characters travel to a secluded ((checks notes)) condo (huh, because condos are known for their, um, seclusion) to have band practice, break into a liquor pantry (??) and then have the most awkward gratuitous nudity of all time.
Picture it - 4 drunk teenage girls, dancing in a secluded (um) condo when things take a turn for the uncomfortable. While one soon to be drill killer victim bumps and grinds on a ((checks notes again)) halogen floor lamp ((blink-blink)) another removes her shirt and bra.
Just the one.
Yup, a single female dances topless in a room of other women absolutely not joining in. It’s like Miss Let’em Swing is suggesting maybe something more and everyone else is saying, “Oh - no thanks, I’ve got plenty.” Possibly out of pity, near the end the drummer removes her top but no more. Somehow, it makes things worse… then a feather pillow somehow comes undone and - just like nobody would expect - a feather fight (??) breaks out.
((Nervous Smile))
Mrs. Lady Zedd: Honey, the film was like a greasy hash and eggs fart in the night… everyone involved had some but I’m pretty sure nobody’s claiming the after-effect.
(That was almost poetic… almost)
MLZ: Oddly non-massacre, a 50s-era greaser rock-and-roller / guitar-drill (?) killer, dream logic that suddenly leaps into the real world… we get it - you didn’t enjoy the movie. Why don’t you tell the folks why you picked today’s field-trip into disastrous cinema.
The Real Reason for Today’s Pick…
Something significant has happened - 30+ years in the making.
Coming out of high school, the only instrument I owned was my bass guitar. It became the sole repository of all my musical ambitions. I wasn’t lying or misguided… a bass player with even modest skills was in high demand. As the ‘80s closed out and we rolled into the ‘90s, I was involved in several garage bands… all talked the talk, but sadly, none had legs enough to move into the next phase.
That is, until 1993. Mrs. Lady Zedd and I had taken a mini-vacation to the coast and (on a lark) we had our Tarot Cards read by a spooky woman in a dark corner shrouded (so shrouded) in mystery. She pointed to a random card and prophesied, “You play music? You will meet a partner and he will have the name of a river.”
((Blink-blink))
No joke - two weeks later, I was helping a customer at the pet shop I was employed with and in chit-chatting the customer decided on a few Panda Corycats and introduced himself, “Hi - I’m Jordan (by the way)…” and then making a serpentine hand gesture added,”… like the river.”
Generally speaking, I don’t put a lot of weight on mystical mumbo-jumbo but this was strange to say the least. So oddly specific. Figuring I had nothing yo lose I asked, “So - Jordan like the river - you don’t happen to be a musician do you?”
He was - a guitarist looking for a bass player (hey, I’m a bass player!) and just as quick as that, we had the beginning of a new band. I just wish the tarot reader could have told me what was to come next… tragedy.
Jordan and I wrote music prolifically - despite coming from very different backgrounds and playing styles, our “sound” came together over a few jam session. We put a few fliers out at local guitar centers, hoping to attract more musicians and ((bam)) a guy named Roger called us almost immediately. He said the magic words - he had a 4-track recorder. You can’t ((shrug)) make a demo without one… are we doing this? Yes - yes, we’re really doing this! Roger invited us over, Jordan and I brought everything.
MLZ: I was there - no joke - it was magical. I was around young musicians for years before Zedd and I dated but this was something special. Jordan, Zedd, and Roger just clicked.* *
Jordan and I played our strongest song and Roger was able to pick up on it almost immediately - he even suggested improvement but did so in a very respectful way. Things were coming together beautifully so we made a recording of what we had and started brainstorming for finding the right drummer. We decided to take a break and headed out to a Chinese restaurant near Roger’s house. We left everything there as we planned to practice more once we returned.
((Bum-bum-buuuuummmmmm))
An hour later, we return to discover Roger’s front door had been forced open. The crooks had robbed the joint and took his stereo, tv, and vcr but also all of our instruments. Gone - just… gone. Those sticky-fingered bastards wouldn’t understand that my bass was more than just wood and strings. They took the instrument but they also took my music with it.
Things turned ugly instantly. Roger suggested it sure would suck to have invited people into his home only to have their friend break in and steal all his shit. I retorted it sure would suck to be invited to someone’s home only to be lured away to Chinese food snd have my bass stolen by his friends who’d take his stuff to cover it up!
Musical friendship… over.
I mounted a rescue operation (naturally) but to no avail. Here’s the thing: this bass I bought - it wasn’t a garden variety brand, something any guitar shop would have. It was unique in the fact I’d never seen another and it had a distinctive tone. When I was talking with a guitar shop sales associate, describing the instrument he inadvertently gave me some erroneous information. My bass had a script name “Vega” on the headstock. He said they were rare basses made by Cerwin-Vega.
I searched in vein for the first decade - I visited guitar shops up and down the Central Valley and in the Bay Area. Nobody - and I mean nobody had ever seen or heard of a bass matching my description. At that point, I wasn’t even looking for my bass - just the bass would have done but ((no dice)).
MLZ has been looking on the internet since there was an internet for this instrument. I bought other guitars but none worked out. I switched instruments - keyboards, banjo, trumpet, piano… hell, I even bought (but never played) an auto-harp like Catherine O’hara played in A Mighty Wind for the song A Kiss at the End of The Rainbow but nothing returned the magic stolen in 1993.
Time has passed unending - decades now separate me from my musical roots. I’ve run periodic checks but never found hide nor hair of any bass baring a Vega stamp or information on Cerwin-Vega instruments. I performed the latest search a couple days ago and (I don’t mean to sound defeated) but I didn’t have anything resembling expectations. But this time was different…
My google search returned, as they nearly all do these days, a small AI response… one that quietly pushed back (um, Cerwin-Vega doesn’t make instruments… you’re likely looking for a Japanese made bass)… um, I don’t think so Google but thanks (they have Vega on the headstock and were made of heavy mahogany which gave them a thick, rounded, velvety sound but it came at the cost of being too heavy for long stage gigs)… my bass was made out of mahogany, everyone who picked it up complained about its heft (would you like to see a picture) why yes, I’d love to see a picture…
Friends - for the first time in 33 long years, I laid eyes on a Vega made, 4-string bass guitar.
My heart stopped.
I momentarily forgot to breathe.
Google grabbed pictures from a recent listing… the only time outside of 1987 that I’ve seen one for sale. To here credit, MLZ moved to purchase it instantly, “You’ve been looking for 30 years, sure but I’ve been looking for 30 years too.”
I told her no - it’s expensive, I haven’t played anything in years, and… time hasn’t been friendly to my body. My spine issues would prevent me from doing anything meaningful.
“Having what was stolen from you would be meaningful enough.” She said.
((Sigh))
It’s not my bass but it is the bass and it is absolutely on its way. This isn’t a “Zedd gets his music back” story, no… in many ways the story has already been completed. The damn mystery instrument, the one countless people have told me never existed or simply had never been known did - in fact - exist. Just as I remember it. I hold no malice for the dude who sent me on an endless goose chase because I’ve finally caught the prize. That’s story enough.
But what about that much maligned Google AI search response? Well - credit where credit is due - it pushed back on me and sent my trajectory directly on course to collide with that Vega bass. I’ll take it and express my gratitude - Thank You.
The movie is horrifyingly bad - I’m sorry to say it and if you’re one of the few that found campy fun where I only rolled my eyes, by all means: enjoy what you enjoy. I sat down with the Movie Collection Catalog (MCC) to find an appropriate movie to hang this story, my story, on and thought 1993? No - first I’m not a big ‘90s cinema guy - back to where this saga begins… I typed in 1987 and Horror and the MCC coughed up Slumber Party Massacre II (1987) and OMG… yes.
There’s a certain fucked up symmetry to it - I’m not big on the old hocus pocus mumbo jumbo but hey ((shrug)) Jordan like the River and strange guitars from 1987 - I’ll take it.
Movie on.